


Trying Part II

by lovesdaryl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, implied childhood abuse bc reference to treatment book, mention of character deaths, spoilers through 507
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesdaryl/pseuds/lovesdaryl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Grady Memorial, Carol and Daryl share a quiet moment - and a lot of themselves, with not a dozen words spoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying Part II

They were spending the night in an abandoned warehouse, very similar to the one where they had holed up prior to their attack on Grady Memorial. Michonne and Rick were on watch, with Carl and Judith huddling in a sleeping bag not a yard away, just to be close to them. The events during their rescue attempt and after those staying behind had left Gabriel’s church had drained all of them and they all sought the comfort of being close to their loved ones.

Sasha was awake, staring up at the concrete ceiling and the painted water pipes suspended from it, with paint noses hanging down from them like small, dusty teeth. Her hands were restlessly fingering Bob’s jacket and the tear in her sleeve that she hadn’t had time to fix yet. Losing Tyreese so soon after losing Bob, when he had just offered to help her over the death of her lover, had been a hard blow for her, one that would be difficult to recover from.

Carol managed to fully open her eyes and look about the unfamiliar room. She remembered noise, and being carried by Daryl and Rick, she remembered shouts and gunshots and Beth screaming. Pain and dizziness. The naked panic in Daryl’s eyes when she had whispered that it was all too much, that he should leave her behind.

Of course, he hadn’t done that. Even when asking it of him, she had known that he never would. He was a stubborn fighter, and the day a walker got him he would probably bite back just to spite it. He hadn’t left her behind. He had carried her the rest of the way once they had made their way out of that horrible hospital. Just like he had carried her out of the Tombs that day. She smiled weakly.

The pain in her midsection was better than it had been, but that was probably because she had been resting for hours, laid up in a room - the supervisor’s office? - separated from the warehouse floor by a waist-high wall with windows giving onto the floor, granting her brief glimpses of Rick and Michonne walking back and forth on watch. Lifting her head very slightly, she looked around for him - she knew he wouldn’t be far away.

He was sitting on the floor next to her nest of blankets, pillows and two sleeping bags, looking straight ahead at the wall in front of him. The tracks of tears were glistening on his dirty cheeks. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, both his wrists resting on them, his hands hanging down limply, with the skin of his left thumb ragged and bloody from gnawing on it.

Next to him on the ground lay the book. It was open, and she could see that he had already highlighted several passages on the two pages she could see. The text marker lay next to the book, still uncapped.

He drew in a shuddering breath, and then she heard him whisper „Fuck!“

Slowly, painfully, she lifted her right hand to touch his left. His head whipped around and his eyes widened at seeing her awake. His mouth opened slightly, but he couldn’t speak. He kept staring at her through his dirty, sweaty bangs, until finally his hand closed around hers to hold it for a moment. „How ya feelin’?“

„Better“, she managed, weakly squeezing his fingers, grateful for his touch. Being given another chance to live, and be with him, had made her realize how much she stood to lose - and how much she stood to gain. This realization, combined with him trying so hard to be there for her in ways he hadn’t been, before, made her want to try again, herself. Made her want to be there for him again in turn, in ways she hadn’t been, recently. „You?“

He was pretty banged up from the showdown with the Grady people, the bandage around his upper left arm already spotted with blood again, but they both knew she wasn’t talking about his gunshot wound, or his new black eye, or his eternally bruised ribs.

His eyes flicked down to the book, then met hers again defiantly. „Yeah“, he mumbled finally, his voice tired but firm. „Yeah, 'm good. Still tryin‘.“

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read!


End file.
